Miss Bangkok: Memoirs of a Thai Prostitute (9 page)

I had not told Yuth my news for obvious reasons, so when I returned home to find him busy mending a broken door, I hurried past on the pretence that I needed to use the toilet.
Once inside the bathroom, I sat on the floor and laid the abortion medicine on the ground in front of me, and began to do battle with my conscience.

I spoke to my unborn baby.

I’m sorry. I’m not ready to have you. I hope that you can forgive me.

I rubbed my belly and asked Buddha to forgive me for the life that I was about to take, and with that I swallowed the potion.

If there really is a next life, I hope you will be reborn as my child.

The potion had a bitter taste and left my throat feeling ticklish for hours afterwards. I went and lay down on my bed, unsure of what to expect. The Chinese man had told me that if I saw blood soon after drinking the potion, I would know it had worked. I waited and waited, but nothing happened.

Later that afternoon, I made dinner and cleaned the house, all the while feeling perfectly fine, physically if not emotionally.

I went to bed that night knowing that the potion had not worked and that I would soon become a mother again. I felt ashamed and wondered if I had harmed my child. I prayed to the baby to forgive me and vowed never to let the word ‘abortion’ escape from my lips again.

When I finally mustered up the courage to tell Yuth, he was initially pleased by the news. But this soon changed when he realised that, as was customary in such circumstances, I would have to give up work. He had grown accustomed to drinking all day with his friends while I kept the roof over our heads. The impending arrival of a baby is supposed to bring joy into a home, but in our case it turned the rift that had arisen between Yuth and me into a chasm.

Though it had been seven years since I had first started working at Jasmine’s, I had saved only a mere 20,000 baht.

Yuth refused to look for work, and so we were forced to rely on his mother to feed and support us, even though she was poor and already struggling just to support herself. She somehow managed to put aside 100 baht a day for me to use for food. She also brought me leftovers from food offerings she had scavenged at the local temple where she worked as a funeral florist. My sister also gave me what little money she could afford. Yuth contributed nothing.

My second child was a boy and I called him Atid. To my relief, he was born healthy despite the potion that I had consumed. I figured this meant that he must have committed a lot of good deeds in his past lives.

Yuth had become temporarily less violent during my pregnancy; however, he reverted to his old ways after the birth. If the baby cried at night, he would blame me and subject me to a beating as my punishment.

He treated my body like an inanimate piece of flesh, rolling on top of me whenever he felt like having sex, and beating me into submission if I dared move a muscle in protest.

It was during one such incident that he got me pregnant again. This time, the thought of an abortion didn’t even cross my mind. The baby was a girl, whom I called Peung.

I became convinced that she possessed magical powers because Yuth was transfixed by her from the moment she was born. His old tenderness resurfaced in the way he dedicated himself to Peung’s care. He treated her as though she were the most precious gem in the world.

Part of this tenderness spread to me, as he also stopped beating me for a while. His transformation, although temporary, was one from a tiger into a mouse. And although our relationship improved as a result, our financial situation did not.

While Yuth seemed indifferent to our poverty, I desperately wanted more, if not for myself and Yuth, then at least for our children. I didn’t want their childhoods to be fenced in and restricted by the poverty that had plagued my own youth. It was a disease that I had struggled with into adulthood, and I feared that history was about to repeat itself.

I had planned to return to work at Jasmine’s after Peung was born, but I was worried it would upset Yuth. When our situation began to reach crisis proportions, I was left with no other option.

I had not visited the bar since giving birth to my last two children. I had also lost touch with the girls I used to work with. I discussed the idea with Yuth, who had yet to find any regular employment. Although he was initially against it, he was unable to offer an alternative solution.

When I returned to Japantown, Jasmine’s was gone and another bar stood on its premises. Thaniya Street had changed very little. It was a little cleaner now and better organised.
I walked the street, peering through the windows of the different bars. Every one of them was advertising for hostesses.

Though I knew these advertisements were in fact invitations to work as prostitutes, I was so desperate for money that I considered applying. I could no longer afford to buy clothes for my children, and I lay awake at night worrying about how I would feed them in the morning. I also had a lazy, unemployed partner to feed. Selling my body seemed to be the only option that would bring in enough money to solve my problems.

In that moment, with all these worries rushing through my head, I impulsively walked into the nearest bar. A woman I guessed to be the
mamasan
came over to greet me.

I asked if there were any vacancies and explained that I had worked in Jasmine’s.

The
mamasan
was younger than others I had met in the past. I could instantly tell from her demeanour that she was not interested in me.
‘Unfortunately,’ she said, ‘the only position going is for that of a hostess. What age are you?’

‘I am 29.’

‘That’s a pity. You are probably too old.’

I knew it wasn’t personal. Thaniya
mamasan
s are known for their courteous manner, and she explained as kindly as she could that she permitted only girls aged between 18 and 25 to work as consorts.

‘Our Japanese customers prefer girls of this age.’

I thanked her for her kindness. I waited until I was outside of the bar before breaking down and weeping uncontrollably.

Every time I closed my eyes all I could see was my small, defenceless little Peung. At the time, she was just nine months old. Her brother Atid was only a year older.
A man stopped me on the street to ask if I needed help, but I ignored him and walked away. What could I say? I was too old to work as a hostess. My future looked bleak.

It is difficult for anyone who has not experienced true poverty to empathise with the full horror of such a life. It’s like being a mere shadow of a human being; the outline has been drawn but you’re still waiting to be coloured in. The only thing that reassures you that you are in fact alive is the gnawing hunger in your belly and the constant worries about food, clothes, and bills that consume your waking hours.

My children went to bed hungry every night and cried themselves to sleep. I sacrificed as much of my own food portions as I could to try to fill their shrinking stomachs. But there was never enough. Yuth would sit alongside us at the dinner table with downturned eyes; I couldn’t remember the last time he had helped pay for even the most basic of necessities.

We relied heavily on his mother, who would willingly sacrifice her own meals just to feed her beloved grandchildren.

My days were spent searching for ways to earn some money. I had lost the luxury of being picky and was willing to take up any employment that would bring an end to the present misery. It was around this time, when my guard was down and I was truly desperate, that the opportunity to engage in prostitution presented itself.

Contrary to what most people believe, it is usually women who recruit other women into vice. Gaining face plays an important role in the recruitment strategy. Parents boast about how they have bought a new house on money their daughters have sent them every month, although they fail to mention how it is earned. Neighbours who want to keep up then encourage their daughters to work in prostitution to make equal amounts of money. In Thailand, children are expected to be grateful to their parents. Men can earn merit on behalf of their parents by becoming monks, while women sell their bodies to feed their parents’ materialistic craze. Bar girls often make trips home, not only to pay respect to their parents, but also to persuade other women to join in the business, thereby earning commission.

In my case, I was not fooled into selling my body by a pimp; the offer came from a woman I met in the local vegetable market.

Her name was Nok, and she worked as a go-go dancer in Patpong, the most infamous redlight district in Bangkok. I had known her for years, and although everyone in the slum knew what she did for a living, it was not openly discussed.

We met by chance in the market one Saturday afternoon. Spotting Peung and me poring over the various vegetables, she came over to say hello. Peung was just beginning to learn how to arrange words from her limited vocabulary into a relatively intelligible sentence, and she provided Nok and me with ample entertainment. Nok enquired after Yuth, and we made small talk about the various mutual acquaintances we had. A more serious undercurrent soon developed as conversation turned to Jasmine’s and my current predicament. I asked Nok where she was working, careful to keep my tone casual.

‘I am leaving my job,’ she told me, ‘I am moving home to work on my parents’ farm. It will be a new life.’

Nok was an Isan native from the Nakhon Phanom province. She and her husband were childless, but they hoped to start a family when they returned to the northeast.

‘Maybe,’ I ventured, ‘you could call me if the club requires new staff.’

A look of surprise flitted across her face. She had known me a long time and I had never before expressed any interest in getting involved in prostitution. She realised that I hadn’t been exaggerating how bad my situation was.

‘I could get you a job. Come with me tonight if you want me to introduce you to the
mamasan
. Can you meet me this evening?’ she asked me.

We both understood what the job would involve, but my main concern was exactly how much I could earn.

‘The money is good if you work hard and earn commission from drinks,’ she said, avoiding a direct answer.

I asked her exactly what would be expected of me, and once again she avoided alluding to the one aspect of the job we both knew I was referring to.

‘The girls arrive for work an hour early to get their make-up done. We wear bikinis and boots, sometimes heels, and dance on the stage. It’s not really like Jasmine’s because most of the customers are
farang
s.’

I interrupted and asked her directly, ‘Does the
mamasan
make you sleep with the customers?’

‘No, it’s up to you if you want to or not. I make 2,000 baht for a quickie…’

She suddenly paused, seeming disarmed by her own bluntness. She continued, ‘My husband knows what I do, and he doesn’t object so long as I never stay overnight with a client—not that I’d ever want to.’

She suggested that I accompany her to the bar and make up my own mind about the work.

I spent the walk home mulling things over, and by the end of the journey I had made up my mind. When I visited the bar with Nok that evening, it would be to secure employment. I couldn’t afford the luxury of sitting around debating the merits of the job because essentially there was only one to consider—and that was the pay-packet.

I informed Yuth of my decision.

‘Nok told me that her husband doesn’t mind her servicing the customers as long as she doesn’t stay overnight with them. She said that most of them ask for hand jobs only.’

His reply surprised me.

‘Well, I suppose I don’t mind either, so long as you don’t go off with a Thai guy. Only
farang
s.’

I think I was secretly hoping that the thought of me being intimate with another man would incite a mixture of jealousy and chivalry in Yuth and he would rush to protect my virtue. In my imagined version of events, he would go to extremes to keep me from selling my body—an extreme in Yuth’s case being that he would look for a job.
When the time came for me meet Nok, I said goodbye to Peung and Atid. They wrapped their little arms around me and buried their heads in the folds of my dress. Yuth managed to pry them away and gathered them up in his arms. I think children often have a sixth sense and know when something is wrong. Peung and Atid tried to squirm free of Yuth, stretching their arms out towards me in a plea to be brought along. Yuth seemed almost relieved by the distraction they afforded him and he busied himself with quietening them rather than having to look me in the eye.

‘I’ll be home in a few hours,’ I promised them.

‘I’ll wait up,’ I heard Yuth half-whisper as I closed the door behind me.

The journey to Soi Patpong took less than an hour. I met Nok at the bus stop, and we walked towards the red-light district. This area was a labyrinth of stalls, discos, restaurants, and brothels. The combination of decadence and debauchery was astonishing. Bar girls, prostitutes, and ladyboys decorated every street corner. They assumed their most seductive poses, arched their eyebrows, and pouted their lips the second a
farang
came within sight.

The ladyboys dressed far more provocatively than those I had occasionally seen in Japantown, and their figures and femininity were as pronounced as some of the prettiest girls I knew.

Hustlers and
mamasan
s loitered on the streets waving price lists and inviting tourists to see lewd ping-pong shows and live-sex acts.

‘No cover charge, sir,’ they would say in English, attempting to lure them in for a ‘free’ viewing. ‘Take a look, sir. Welcome please.’

The place was teeming with
farang
s. I had never seen so many in the one place at the one time. Spirits were high, whether it was from alcohol or the sheer electricity of the atmosphere. The
farang
s descended on the area to watch the lewd shows, drink beer and, above all else, have sex with Thai women.

Every colour of the rainbow shone down on the streets from the neon signs and the strobe lights of clubs. Giant screens advertised every commodity imaginable.

Whatever you were looking for, be it straight sex, ladyboys, swinging or S&M, you had come to the right place. No fetish was neglected and no fantasy left unfulfilled.

‘Welcome to Patpong,’ Nok said, smiling at my widened eyes. ‘You’ll get used to it,’ she assured me.

We passed a boy riding a baby elephant that stood about five feet high. The
chang
reached out to me with its trunk and began rummaging through my pockets. Nok handed its owner 50 baht and she was given a small bag of popcorn in return. The elephant’s trunk immediately made a grab for the treat, and it vanished into the cavern of his mouth. It then raised one leg, bowed its head and followed its owner up the street where they proceeded to repeat the trick.

The go-go bar where Nok danced was situated on the main
soi,
next to the lines of stalls that sold knick knacks and Thai souvenirs to tourists.

It was like nothing I had ever seen before. There were about 15 girls on a raised platform, holding onto poles and wearing identical uniforms that left nothing to the imagination: knee-high boots, thongs, and bikini tops. The bar ran along the outside of the stage, and the customers sat on stools around it, or watched the performances from small tables clustered nearby.

Each dancer was assigned a numbered badge which helped to identify her should a
farang
wish to single her out and request her company.

It was not the most glamorous club that I had ever visited; it was basically a brothel in disguise. I had anticipated the provocative dancing but not the level of nudity involved. The prospect of wearing such a revealing outfit made me feel instantly self-conscious. The dancers were all slimmer than me, with perkier bottoms and breasts. They were also all noticeably younger than me.

‘This way Bua,’ Nok said, guiding me into a room at the back of the club where I was introduced to the
mamasan
. Her name was Nhim and she used to be a bar girl. Rather than enquire about the pay or the working conditions, the first question that entered my head was what she thought of my bottom.

‘Turn around girl,’ she said. After an exaggerated sharp intake of breath, she exclaimed, ‘You have a lovely tush, so learn how to shake it, as you’ve got competition for the customers. Show them you’re as good as anyone else.’

I smiled not because I thought she was funny but because I was relieved.

‘Now go get changed immediately. We’re very busy.’

Nok then produced a thong and bikini top from her bag.

‘These should fit you.’

I was about to ask Nok for directions to the changing room when I saw that she was already half undressed. This must be it I realised. I removed my clothes as the bar staff passed in and out of the room, but no one batted an eyelid.

‘This is for you,’ Nok said, handing me 2,000 baht. I realised that she had probably earned commission for recruiting me.

‘It’s your money. Use it for the children.’

I threw my arms around her and hugged her tightly.

‘
Mai pen rai
,’ she said in a croak-like voice that made me realise I was hugging her too tightly. ‘You need it.’

From the moment I’d first arrived in the club, I was so overcome by the thought of having to dance on the stage that I hadn’t had time to consider the even more terrifying prospect of being sold to a
farang
.

When I stepped out into the club in my thong and bikini top there were several girls dancing on the stage. I was about to climb onto the podium when Nok stopped me.

‘The tall girls dance together and the short girls, like you and me, dance together. We usually swap over, from the back of the stage to the front, after every round of five songs. We’ll work the clients until the changeover.’

Nok took me by the hand and guided me to a table beside the door where she explained to me that Nhim permitted only the most beautiful girls to dance at the front of the podium.

‘She wants them on view so they will be immediately visible when a tourist looks through the door.’

I could feel the
mamasan’
s eyes on me, so I gave Nok what I hoped was a confident smile. I was introduced to some of the girls who were flirting with customers at the bar, and when my name was called to the stage they pushed me forward to the front of the podium. I could see Nhim watching from the shadows. The butterflies in my stomach were doing aerial somersaults.

I had to share the stage with at least 15 other girls, so I found it hard to even move, let alone dance provocatively. But the
mamasan
was still watching me closely, so I tried to move as best I could to the rhythm of the awful dance music that filled the bar.

The club was soon crawling with
farang
s. They mingled with the girls and drank lots of beer. They cavorted with two or three girls at a time, yet still managed to keep an ever-watchful eye turned towards the stage. The atmosphere was hot and oppressive.

From the vantage point of the stage I noticed one
farang
in particular staring at me. Tall and bald, the white man sported sprawling tattoos, decorating the length and breadth of his arms. He was well-built and looked to be in his mid-thirties.

I saw him gesture to the
mamasan
and then whisper in her ear, all the while maintaining eye contact with me.

Nhim beckoned me over, and I gingerly stepped down from the podium and made my way over to her. The simple process of walking, placing one foot in front of the other, suddenly became extraordinarily difficult. My feet faltered with every step, and I teetered from side to side like a wounded dog. I affixed my broadest smile and tried to maintain eye contact with the westerner in the hope of distracting him from my trembling body. I wasn’t sure how I was going to converse with him when I knew only a few words of English. I focused on such immediate obstacles because I wasn’t ready just yet to contemplate the prospect of having sex with this stranger.